


Savior in Denim

by Ooze



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood, Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooze/pseuds/Ooze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Nero is given a generous opportunity to poke fun at his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Savior in Denim

**Author's Note:**

> Okay **first of all** : I wanted to write Vergil in a state of helplessness and this was the best thing in my mind. I might be inaccurate in suggesting the way in which he's threatened, seeing as how demons are apparently unaffected by a lot of things. At the same time, he's still half human, and very much of his anatomy is human; I figure it would also make sense that there are some things which can kill him, or at least inhibit his survival. Sorry if this is all wrong omg just accept it for what it is. **Also** : excuse shoddy combat. 

Nero thundered across the barren patches of earth, chest heaving and nostrils flaring as he closed the distance between his father and himself. Enraged at seeing his kin in danger, whether Vergil was capable of handling the situation or not, the blood boiling within Nero's veins screamed at him to _protect_.

Sorry would be those who risked touching his father.

A growl rumbled in his throat, so ready to escape when he unleashed his brutal swinging and jabbing. Even if their bonds were not yet deeply rooted, the strong instincts that propelled Nero forward were enough for him to put his own life on the line to save the other's. Vergil's.

The same Vergil that, only hours before, watched idly as his own flesh and blood was beset upon by ravaging imps. He hadn't deserved to have his ass bailed out. Yet Nero seemed to forget about that small incident; besides, he got out of it no worse for wear, without help from any thing then living. And they went on as usual. Maybe Vergil knew all along that Nero didn't need the help. Maybe he was _that_ acutely aware of the chances.

Nero wasn't the same; didn't care if he was or wasn't. He saw his father struggling, tired, and that was all that registered. The circumstances were unimportant. Whether he was half a demon or not made no difference to a concerned son. His feet pounded irrepressibly with every step and carried him right up to the scumbag of an attacker, a quadruped, that was oblivious to him; probably too engrossed with wanting to choke the life out of Vergil. Its claws curled around his soft, fleshy neck, pinning him down with its weight full on him. He was still alive, struggling but no doubt short on air.

With a sharp halt, Nero dug his soles into the brown, battle-scarred earth, a hand bringing Red Queen down to his side and flinging it with vicious ease at the target.

“Hey, ass face!”

The blade punctured through the demon's muzzle at the instant it turned its head at the call. Distracted, surprised, it howled—or shrieked; or a combination of the two—as it was flung back, tearing itself off Vergil and leaving a trail of thick dark liquid in its wake. He was barely able to catch his breath, coughing as he gasped, pushing himself off his back to sit somewhat erect. Nero knelt by him when he raced over, giving him a quick once-over to make sure the damage didn't need his immediate attention.

“You okay, right?”

The father grunted in affirmation, but this only brought on more coughing and wheezing.

“You're not getting old on me, are you?” With a smirk and a tease, Nero rose to his full height, finally relaxing as he was assured his father's good health—but said father's mood, however, was not in the least _good_ ; he'd scowled at Nero for his smart remark, and this only made the youngster feel so much better about everything. The rage that coursed through him took its leave. His father was safe now; no more worries.

“Sit tight. I'll clean this up,” he'd said as he coolly marched on, stepping mindlessly into a pool of the dark red stuff left behind.

The beast was mad with pain, with confusion, and falling deaf with its own cries. It swung its broad head around as it tried to dislodge Red Queen, and Nero took no caution in taunting it to lure it over. This, however, resulted ineffective. He lunged forward for a forceful start, gaining enough momentum to leap into the air, proximity not an issue when his two feet landed on the beast, allowing him the leverage needed to yank his sword right out of its shimmering, dark front. Even more of an ear-splitting cry erupted from the beast, which Nero thought impossible; the damned thing had been loud enough already.

He'd quickly hopped off it after retrieving his blade, and he made a point to size it up just to make the thing squeal out of exasperation. It wasn't a very formidable thing in terms of height—probably a couple of feet taller than Nero—but it was mad as hell. Vicious, too. It charged him, but failed to make an impact. Time after time it went at him, and at each opportunity it missed.

_And my dad was having trouble with this freak?_

The beast wanted for sympathy; it snorted, snarled, staggered; half deaf, half blind and bleeding from the face. An entity of complete powerlessness. There was no point to it.

Nero saved his breath along with his stamina. He needed only to lay in a handful of rounds from his firearm to shut the beast down for good. The same soupy liquid poured heavily out of its body, pooling all around, and Nero wrinkled his nose at the sight. He hadn't really expected it to be _that_ easy. The wise smirk on his face faded at this revelation, but he was satisfied with the result nonetheless. He holstered his trusted Blue Rose and stowed his sword away before turning back, relieved that the air was still and silent again.

He met the unpleasant countenance of his father's, who was quite fine as he stood basically in the same spot where he'd been left. Nero knew what was coming.

“You made a show of that.”

“After I saved your ass.”

“You shouldn't waste time.”

“Ever learned to say 'thank you'?”

Vergil held his tongue then.

Obviously having defeated his father, Nero proudly stalked around him, waiting only to hear those two sweet words come out of the snake's mouth.

“I'm not—”

“Just say it and we can get going.”

They were definitely thinking the same thing.

Vergil shifted uncomfortably, averting his eyes momentarily as he summed up the guts to push aside his own ego and… show gratitude in the process. He would not live this one down. “Thank. You.” The words were crisp and clear so his spoiled brat of a child wouldn't find any reason to feign a momentary loss of hearing.

“You're welcome, Daddy,” Nero joked, suddenly laughing at his little quip. Oh, the feeling was too sweet! He quit circling his father and knocked him gently on the shoulder, saying, “I can't believe _you_ almost died taking that thing down. Looks like a son of Sparda's losing his luster.”

Irritated, Vergil inched away and presented some of his teeth to Nero in a snarl. “You're alliterating to annoy me.”

Still smiling confidently, Nero replied, “Nah. Wasn't intentional. But it worked out pretty nice.”

Vergil fumed but could not find so much fault with the boy—he cared for his life, after all. There was some meaning behind Nero's actions which touched both his blood and his base instincts. Evidently, there was hope for the two of them, despite how _hopeless_ they often imagined one another. Plus, no matter how annoying his bratty offspring would become, Vergil knew better than to let that behavior get the better of his fortified nerves.

He glared at his son, silent, but not with malice. He understood. He was aware of many things, had become so ever since he got to know the child. Not that Nero was much of a child anymore, but being younger than Vergil classified him as such.

It was best to put the entire ordeal behind them.

Nero could see the fire quelling in his father's eyes, and he knew then that there really were no hard feelings between them. He never meant to hurt his father's pride, though taking a stab at it once in a while was a mighty temptation hard to ignore. The man had his expectations set too high; his ego was inflated beyond a reasonable doubt. Nothing wrong in reminding him what _humility_ meant.

“Anyway, we're done here,” the younger of the pair announced. “You can take care of yourself the rest of the way, right?”

“Nero: w _alk_.”

Vergil took the lead this time, pushing past his son and marching on along their intended path. He would keep to the front of the party for a while, until Nero started whining again about being old enough, being competent enough, being fully suited to take care of things himself, how he was used to surviving on his own, blah, blah…

Which was likely to start after about ten minutes.


End file.
